Musk
by svenka
Summary: Yohji takes part in a routine mission, but what insanity awaits him in the dark? Not even the insane can tell, and everyone is taken offguard inside this whirlwind of dark desires. Oneshot. FarfxYohji, plus one other implied pairing.


Back again with a one-shot that will probably spawn a new obsession, if I'm not careful :)

Spontaneous FarfxYohji, plus another implied pairing. I love lesser-loved pairings :D

Disclaimer: I don't own Weiss, I don't own Schwarz, and I certainly don't own Farfarello, although I wish to Gott that I did.

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It had all started during a reconnaissance mission: an investigation of a medical facility where scientists were rumored to be conducting human cloning experiments. Yohji somehow managed to separate from the group. It was no big deal, until the wiring of his earpiece short-circuited. And then Omi cut the electricity, as planned, but Yohji's flashlight refused to respond. And of course, Yohji just happened to be in the basement, where the full moon couldn't wind its bright tendrils. There was no onslaught, no huge attack, not even a chemical needle that suddenly found itself under his skin. No, there was no heroic moment for Yohji. His main problem arose from a simple soup can abandoned on the floor of the laboratory. An abandoned soup can that somehow found its way, out of all the nice, flat floor, underneath Yohji's foot, propelling him backwards into something unnaturally soft.

…Soft? Last thing he remembered before the electricity went out was a room full of sharp, pointy metallic objects. Shouldn't he have fallen into a table or something else bone-breaking or concussion-inducing? A sharp jolt shot up his leg, reminding him that the fall itself wasn't his only worry. Judging by the pain and the multitude by which he'd twisted it, he had at least sprained his ankle, if not broken it. He tried putting pressure on the sore appendage, only to gasp out in pain, berating himself for his stupidity. Broken. Definitely broken. Shit. He felt around for something to lean against, only to have his hand brush up against that same incredibly soft object. Soft and… warm? Warm. Alive. Double shit.

Yohji tried to twist around, but his ankle gave out halfway, and before he could react he was pinned face-forward against something flat, probably a desk, his arms forced to cross behind his back. Warm breath wafted across the back of his neck, and he could feel the warm pressure of a body lying across his back. The hand that wasn't holding his arms in place wound its way up to his head, making a fist around his numerous yellow curls. Yohji bucked violently, only to have his face return somewhat painfully to the metal tabletop. The smell that drifted down was saturated in the scent of blood, and as nauseated as he already was from the pain, it was all he could do not to lose his lunch.

After gaining several uncomfortable bruises in a few ungainly attempts, he decided to take a break. No movement. It seemed his "attacker" didn't have a plan, either. Perhaps the man was just as surprised as he was? His leg started to cramp where he'd damaged it, and he squirmed slightly, trying to get it into a better position. The body behind him made a surprised low hissing noise at the friction, and Yohji paused.

"Hey buddy, you think you could give me a little lee-way here? My leg kinda… well…" he chuckled lowly, his voice muffled against the hard surface. The creature stiffened against him, and Yohji felt the warm weight shift, followed by a ghost hand drifting down his leg. He gasped out in pain as it prodded his leg, which he realized now was probably broken, and the stranger paused, as if pondering what to do. As Yohji recovered from the invasion, thoroughly puzzled and annoyed, he suddenly felt the weight against him lessen, allowing him to pull his leg into a somewhat less painful position (although he could do nothing else, he learned, earning himself a fresh bruise). And still he waited. Well, it didn't seem like his attacker was planning on killing him any time soon. Or letting him go. Or doing anything, for that matter.

Yohji sighed, returning to his fidgeting, although not fighting as violently as he had been a moment ago. The body above him pressed down in response, although curiously avoiding his injured leg. He stopped. The weight lessened. He fidgeted, the body pressed. He stopped. It lessened.

"Heh… feels like we're dancing or something, buddy. Care to spin me?" he chuckled, and was just trying to decide whether or not to begin again when a warm, breathy voice wafted across his neck.

"I would, but I think you might fall over," it laughed lowly, pressing its weight once more deep into the back of his spine to hold him in place. Yohji felt the blood run cold in his veins as the man's identity fully registered. No way. It wasn't possible.

"F… Far.. f...," he stammered, feeling the first drop of cold sweat work its way down his arm. The voice behind him chuckled again, and he felt the vibrations deep in his own chest, as if he were the initiator of that burning laugh. The table felt cold and unforgiving beneath his skin, almost as unforgiving as the cold sociopath pinning him against the hard surface.

"Ah yes. Now you see my problem? Can't exactly let you go, but-" he murmured, his voice straining painfully at the end in some alien way that didn't make sense to Yohji.

But? But what? The only other choice would be… to kill him. But…? But what? It was obvious who had the upper hand. So that only left one option: torture. His captor wanted to play with him. Yohji found new life, and swore violently, raging against the hands that so easily held him in place. How was it possible for something so slight to possess such immense strength?

"What's the matter? Forget your precious knives somewhere?" Yohji spat, unable to restrain himself, even in his present position.

Again, he felt the pressure increase, until it was almost suffocating, and then, to his complete horror, the hand disappeared from his scalp, and he felt a very familiar cold surface pressed against his throat. Maybe he should've kept his mouth shut.

"No, not exactly." The blade traced a very thin line against his neck, making lazy, slow loop, deep enough to draw a thick crimson line to the surface.

"Then..." he rasped in surprise, his voice jumping as the blade vanished. But he could feel his enemy's weight on him shifting, and he knew that soon, in the darkness of this room, he would die. A slow, painful death. He… he… He felt something warm and wet against his neck, pinching, pulling at the skin where the small amounts of blood were welling to the surface… Yohji felt lightheaded from the lack of air, but even in his half-conscious stupor, he was sure, _sure_ that… Farfarello was… was… Another vibration moved inaudibly through the man's chest into his, but this time it originated much, much deeper.

"Now wait… just..." he rasped desperately, breathing heavily against the tabletop as he tried to kick away from this new species of warmth. "I… I mean… You…" Yohji felt ill as something cold wound its way around his wrists, clinking happily in the darkness. The chains, God knows where they came from, were twisted tight, and Yohji cried out angrily as he was jerked violently backwards onto the solid concrete floor, his arms now pinned beneath him and bound by thick metal as he faced the darkness above him. Only now, as his eyes adjusted to the dark, could he make out his attacker's more prominent features. Wild white hair, two rows of perfect pearly white teeth, a set of high, pale cheekbones. And that single gleaming amber eye, which pierced his soul far more effectively than any dagger.

Yohji felt a hand tangle painfully once again in his hair, pulling his head to the side and causing the insignificant wound on his neck to stab daggers across his nerves. He merely hissed at the assault, but lashed out wildly, to no avail, when he saw those pale features descend and felt soft lips ghost past the shredded tissue. His leg throbbed in protest to his flailing, but only because of that. Farfarello's weight was completely removed, perched above him like some distorted bird of prey, only allowing a single hand to keep his quarry in line. Finally, as if unable to contain himself any longer, Farfarello pressed a warm mouth against his victim's neck, nipping and suckling the wound possessively. A low whine pressed itself from the youth's ghostly pale throat; a sound that seemed to convey and pervert both happiness and longing with a single strangled note. The noise echoed softly in the expansive room, despite being muffled by his attacker's current task.

Yohji felt ready to kill somebody. Or cry. He couldn't make up his mind. Maybe he'd kill somebody as he cried. Or maybe he'd cry and kill somebody, although the mixture might make it difficult to see his victim. As he contemplated which of these choices seemed the most logical, the fingers in his hair suddenly detangled themselves, and the wet warmth detached itself with an unappetizing _pop_.

The blond breathed shallowly, listening, watching as those glistening features hovered dangerously above him. What now? Death? Knives? …Worse?

He flinched violently as something solid came into contact with his neck. Farfarello withdrew his hand, sucking his fingers to free them of the blood they'd gently swiped from their owner. That single eye burned silently down on him. He couldn't move, pinned to the spot like a doe caught in the headlights of some crazed eighteen wheeler.

A movement. Yohji closed his eyes, feeling the bile rising in the back of his throat. This was it. The last moment. He would die like a stuck pig, chained helplessly to the floor. What would his teammates think? What would Manx think? He pictured her in all her curly-headed, short-skirted glory. That cocky smile, greeting him from afar, responding unabashed to his confident flirtations. And what would he be now? A blood splotch on her radar, killed in a rendition of some perverted, kinky BDSM video. He'd forever be the one who slipped on a can and wound up kicking the bucket. The one who-

His breath caught in his throat. Warmth was spreading itself across his face, pressing gingerly down against him. The core of the sun seemed to ignite against his mouth, spreading like fire against his lips. He couldn't breathe. Didn't want to breathe. The lightheadedness made it easier to ignore the fact that his horrifying, blood-thirsty, murderous arch-rival was softly... gently…. caressingly... _kissing him_.

Slowly, at first, and then harder, faster, as if feasting on Yohji's mouth could satisfy some unnameable greed that danced within him. A half-suppressed moan escaped through their shared connection. Where...? But then the thought was gone, and there was something thick slipping between his lips, sliding across his teeth, demanding more. More. He opened slightly in a gasp, and the warmth exploded into his mouth, rocking against his tongue. He couldn't stifle his own surprised noise, which sounded high and meek compared to the low, base moans that were now filling his mouth every other moment. There had to be something to stop this... something to stop him... something... The world was growing dim and fuzzy, and the edges of his vision were turning dark.

He couldn't breathe. Literally.

With a jolt, the warmth left as suddenly as it had appeared, and with it disappeared that unwavering golden stare, those eerily pale features, and any other sign of his malevolent counterpart. Of course, the scent of blood still remained, although it was mingled with an indescribable musky texture.

A voice chuckled murderously in his head, and he sat up violently, looking around in the darkness.

_"Don't worry, kitten. I'm nowhere close. Just… listening in,"_ laughed a nasally voice. Yohji wrestled with his bonds, only to find that when twisted a certain direction, they came apart quite easily. The lights flickered for an instant, and then blindingly flooded the entire room. He stumbled around for a moment, finally finding something solid to hoist himself up on, and stared through squinted eyes around the room. Nope, no sign of anyone.

_"I told you, I'm nowhere close,"_ said the voice, sounding amused. _"And as entertaining as that was, I'll give you a small tidbit of information…"_

"Yohji? Yohji?!! Is that you? Guys, I can hear something!"

_"Next time you plan on encountering a hypersensitive bad guy…"_

Muffled footsteps turned into sharp, clear footfalls, and Omi burst into the room, followed by Ken, then Aya, all looking worried (except the last, who never looked anything). "Where have you been?" Omi whined, sounded relieved, but annoyed.

_"Make sure…"_

"Did you turn off your earpiece? I've been trying to tell you, the mission is a bust! This was a set up, the real location is-" He cut off, seeing the glazed look in Yohji's eyes.

_"…you don't wear something..."_

"Are you listening? Yohji? What's wrong? Oh! God! What happened to your neck?! SHIT! Your leg! What on earth?!" Omi fluttered around him like a hummingbird, examining his wounds, and he slowly realized that they were ushering him out of the building. He was too stunned to care.

_"...that'll cause strange reactions in your opponent. Although, I admit, it probably saved your ass tonight..."_

The scent. So mangled by the blood, he almost hadn't recognized it. They intertwined so perfectly. Yohji was almost startled to realize that it was his very own cologne, sprayed thoughtlessly earlier that day, as it had been for years before he started Weiss. He didn't like to leave tracks behind, even as fleeting as a scent, so he hardly wore it anymore. He usually didn't spray it unless it was a special occasion.

And before now, he had never, ever worn it on a mission day.

"_Ah! Our time is up, I'm afraid. Young Jei has arrived, and he looks rather... confused? You could say, in need of a 'friend'…What was that cologne again? Unn hnn hnn, I'll remember that..."_

_"Gute Nacht, meine Leibe."_

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Thanks for reading :) Hope you enjoyed! Comments/crits/etc. are massively appreciated!

-- Svenka


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